


Notebook 167

by Salambo06



Series: The Pool [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Declaration of Love, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, POV Sherlock Holmes, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: Inspired by a fic idea on tumblr : "John and Sherlock know the Yard has a pool going for when they’re finally going to get together. It’s been running forever, and it’s worth thousands of pounds. It’s all fun and games, hahaha, until they find out Lestrade is in dire financial straits (dog needs emergency surgery, he’s putting his kid through gymnastics training, I don’t know, something), and they decide to fake a relationship to win the pool for him. Sherlock figures out the day and way that Lestrade thinks it’s going to happen, and they act it out. It’s all for a good cause, fake relationship style, until it’s not."This is Sherlock's POV of "Finally kiss the bloody idiot", and I highly recommend to read it first!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to CWB for letting me write this! 
> 
> I'm back for this new side of the story, and I hope it wont be too repetitive for all of you! Thank you for all the amazing responses I got on the first part of this series, you guys are the best <3
> 
> Thank you to [Heather](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/) for her job as a beta !  
> [My Tumblr](http://johnlockfulfillment.tumblr.com/)  
> 

Sherlock listened as John put his jacket on and mumbled under his breath as he searched for his keys. They were on the mantelpiece, where he had left them yesterday right before following Sherlock back outside the flat and into a cab to the Yard. John didn’t seem to remember setting them down in a hurry there, but Sherlock could still recall the exact feeling of John’s fingers as they brushed his when he had pulled him to the door (warm, unexpectedly soft). Sherlock waited, smiling as he finally heard John walk to the mantle, a relieved sigh escaping him (late to work already).

Even after all these years, it still surprised him how familiar it all felt, having John there. Listening to him walk around the flat, watching him as he read in his chair or talked to himself while typing their latest case. It was as if Sherlock’s life had truly began the day John Watson had walked into this flat and breathed out a warm _Well, this could be very nice._

“Ok, I’m going,” John said, walking back to the door but Sherlock kept his eyes closed. “I should be back for lunch.”

Sherlock didn’t reply, knowing John wasn’t expecting an answer anyway, and listened as the front door closed and then to the sound of his footsteps fading away. Silence, again.

Sherlock let out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before looking at his phone on the coffee table. He should call Lestrade, force him to give him a case and stop himself once and for all from thinking about _it_.

He couldn’t. He knew it. It was insane, and John would be angry and that was the last thing Sherlock wanted right now. Their new stability was still fragile, and despite years of unsaid words and well hidden feelings, Sherlock wasn’t going to ruin their friendship over a tempting experiment.

_Except it is so much more than that._

Sherlock sighed again. He had thought about this for days now, ever since he had noticed the marks under Lestrade’s eyes and read his financial issues in the coffee stains on his clothes. He was only trying to help, and surely John would understand and agree to this plan quickly. It was in his nature. John _cared_ about people. Most importantly, John wasn’t an idiot (most of the time) and it wouldn’t take long for him to realise the real meaning behind the lie. Even worse, it wouldn’t take him long to realise Sherlock had once again used him as an experiment. John hated it, and Sherlock knew it too well to fake being surprised by John’s anger when he would realise what was happening.

There was too much to risk, and at the same, so much to gain too. This could be Sherlock’s only chance, his only opportunity to _know._ John’s touch, John’s taste, John’s warmth, close, so very close.

With a loud sigh, Sherlock got to his feet and to the mantle, looking for the cigarettes he had hidden there a few weeks ago and lit one up. He had four hours to decide whether to risk it all or not. Four hours before John came back and asked him why he hadn’t said a word since this morning.

Four hours.

** 

**Notebook 167 (experiments related to John) - 4th of May**

_ Must not forget: _

  * _Tell John about the Pool without telling too much._
  * _Do not mention this experiment to John (he hates being the subject of my experiments and he really can’t know about the real reasons I’m conducting this)._
  * _Keep this notebook hidden at all times._
  * _Keep everything under control (I do mean, everything)._



 

**

 John had agreed, of course.

He had agreed and stuck to the plan and kissed him.

Sherlock couldn’t think anymore.

John’s lips pressed to his own, John’s taste on his tongue, John’s body against his, _John_.

It was taking all the space in his head.

 

**

**Notebook 167 (experiments related to John) - 6th of May**

_The plan worked, obviously. Lestrade will collect his money soon enough. Still, there is now the party. Thirteen more days. I have thirteen more days._

_Thirteen._

**

 Sherlock closed his door before leaning against it, clenching his hand several times before shutting his eyes tightly. He should have known. Of course spending every day pretending to _be_ with John would exceed all of his expectations. He had prepared himself for the rush of uncontrolled feelings, of course. He had had years of training, living with John and falling in love without even realising it. He knew about the urge to touch, to be close, to feel _more_ , but still, it all felt like too much and not enough at the same time.

It was quite simple, actually. Sherlock wanted more.

He wanted John here, in his room, in his bed. He wanted John close, pressed against him, their fingers laced and legs tangled. John shouldn’t have had to go up to his room, he shouldn’t have to fall asleep alone. Aren’t couples supposed to sleep in the same bed, after all?

Sherlock shook his head, a nervous laugh escaping him. He needed to stop, now. He had been the one to ask John, the one to orchestrate this entire thing. He had known and had chosen to do it anyway. He had known there would be consequences, ones he’d had to deal with on his own and more importantly, without John ever noticing.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Sherlock lied down, staring at the ceiling and picturing John getting ready for bed above him. They had practiced hand holding, today. Somehow Sherlock hadn’t been surprised to find out John’s hand fit perfectly in his. John’s fingers, shorter, slid between his naturally, as if they were made to hold Sherlock’s, as if the sole purpose of his thumb was to stroke Sherlock’s palm slowly as they walked around the park. He couldn't be sure how long they walked, how long they had talked before the night began to fall and John had suggested they should go grab some takeaway and head home.

Sherlock had counted that exactly seventeen people had stared at their joined hands, plus ten more glancing at them before walking away. All of them, from a five year old girl to an old man sitting on one of the benches, had either smiled or shrugged before looking away. Sherlock had registered every reaction, stored them away but still couldn’t help but wonder what they had all thought. Did they see the act, did they notice the soft lines around John’s eyes, but also the way he backed away when Sherlock got too close.  For a moment Sherlock considered finding all of them again and simply asking them, just to know.

 _Stop this_.

Sherlock rolled to his side, closing his eyes again. He didn’t have the time to think about all that. He needed to take this as just another experiment, one which was going to end all too soon. He needed to gather more information, to take in as much as he could before they would go back to normal.

If one thing was certain, it was that wondering whether or not they actually could be together wasn’t going to buy him time.

 **

**Notebook 167 (experiments related to John) - 6th of May**

  _Important note:_ _do not mention kissing too soon._

**

 Sherlock listened as John finished making his bed upstairs, the flat too quiet and his heart already beating much faster than it was supposed to. He sighed, closing his eyes for the briefest second. He could do this. He had been preparing himself for this very moment for the past five days. He needed to remain in control, to not let his body betray him. Sherlock allowed himself another second to inhale deeply, the knowledge that he was going to kiss John in less than five minutes sinking in.

John’s footsteps echoed in the room and Sherlock looked up at him as he came down the stairs before sitting next to him. “So,” John said in a breath, “How do you want to do this?”  
  
“I’ve done some reasearch.”  
  
John smiled and Sherlock fought back the urge to touch him, anything, _everything._

“And?”  
  
“There was too much information, none of it reliable enough,” He explained, remembering the numerous websites he had found and some rather disturbing videos too. Nothing reliable enough. Sherlock glanced down at John’s lips quickly before continuing, “But you’ve kissed a lot of people-”  
  
“I wouldn’t say a lot.”  
  
Choosing to ignore the lie, Sherlock continued, “So you might have to lead this time.”  
  
“Alright, yes.” John turned and faced him properly, Sherlock following with his heart now pounding in his ears. He registered John’s knees barely an inch away from his, his hands, resting on his lap, so very close. John’s voice brought him back to reality. “It’s quite simple actually, and we’ve done it before.”  
  
“Only once,” Sherlock corrected him, memories of John’s lips against his own making the warmth in his chest expand to his entire body. “And it didn’t last long.”  
  
“Right.”

John remained silent for long seconds and Sherlock held his breath.

“It’s all about trusting the other to know what to do. There is no magic trick or manual for this, Sherlock. Each kiss is different, and it takes two people to do it right.”  
  
Sherlock nodded absently, wondering just how different this kiss would taste.  
  
“Why don’t we keep it simple at first, get to know each other’s mouths and reactions.” John licked his lips and Sherlock’s mouth watered. “You know, people won’t mind if we don’t kiss in front of them, they’ll understand.”  
  
Sherlock remained silent, knowing his next words could ruin anything. He had hoped his first explanation would convince John, but apparently, he still doubted the entire process. Choosing his answer carefully, Sherlock said, “I’ve told you already, people will expect kissing. It’s in our own interest to make it look believable.”  
  
John nodded, licking his lips again. “Just making it clear, that’s all.”  
  
“Now that you’ve done that, can we do this?”

Sherlock knew he sounded too impatient but John didn’t give him the time to think about correcting himself, taking Sherlock’s hand in his and shutting off his brain completely in the process. “Softly,” John murmured and Sherlock had already closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath as John’s lips finally brushed his. It was exactly how he remembered it, but the contact much softer this time, and Sherlock shut his eyes tighter.

John caught his lower lip between his own and Sherlock couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him. He felt more than he saw John’s smile before he was releasing his lips only to catch them again right away. Sherlock wasn’t sure how long he let him discover and play with his lips before he thought about kissing John back. He tentatively chased John’s mouth when he pulled away and breathed out loudly again as John let him take control of the kiss.

It didn’t last long, and before Sherlock could do anything about it, John was pulling away. He could still feel John’s breath against his face and Sherlock refused to open his eyes just yet. It wasn’t enough, he needed more. “John,” he said in a breath, not sure what he was trying to say exactly, but John was already kissing him again and Sherlock forgot about anything else.

Sherlock let John take back control, their lips meeting again and again. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do but every gasp making its way out of John’s mouth was making him bolder and bolder. Soon, he was kissing John back just as much, learning the exact shape of his lips, the exact taste of his breath. Still, Sherlock couldn’t help but curse their legs, making it impossible to get closer, to have John’s body pressed against his entirely.

It took Sherlock several seconds to realise his phone was ringing, and even more to think about answering, but John was pulling back and looking away, “You should answer, it’s Molly.”

Sherlock frowned, wondering what John was talking about and why he had stopped kissing him in the first place. “I-” he began, John still not looking at him. “Yes.” He waited for another second, just the time to freeze this moment into his memory before standing up and answering his phone.

“Molly… Yes, I did… Now?... Can’t it wait until tomorrow?...Alright, I’m coming.”

John was staring at their chairs when he came back into the living room, his hands clenched around his phone and John’s taste still lingering on his lips. “I have to go,” he said, his eyes fixed on John. “Molly can’t keep the bodies much longer without raising any suspicion.”

“Yeah, you better go,” John replied almost too quietly for Sherlock to hear. He wasn’t holding his stare anymore, and Sherlock tried not to overthink it. He needed time to analyse what just had happened, and any conclusion would be too biased. Reaching for his coat, Sherlock cast one last look at John before rushing out and down the stairs.

He forced himself not to think about the kiss during the entire cab ride to Barts. Their first kiss was still haunting him, remembering John’s angry eyes but soft lips against his own every second of every day. Of course, John had been right. The kiss they had just shared was nothing compared to their first. Sherlock wasn’t even sure whether he had liked it better or not. He needed more data, needed to know if every one of John’s kisses would taste and feel different. Two wasn’t enough. There would never be enough.

“We’re here,” the cabbie said, chasing Sherlock’s thoughts away. He paid him quickly and headed into the hospital. He closed the door to John’s room in his Mind Palace and focused back on the bodies waiting for him at the morgue. He would have time to think about it lat-

“Sherlock! I’ve heard about you and John, congratulations!”

Molly was hugging him before Sherlock could do anything. “Thank you, I guess.”

She laughed, letting go of him before smiling, “I’ve always wondered if you two would ever do something about it, and I have to say, I’m very glad you did.”

Sherlock averted his eyes, looking at the two bodies next to them, “That’s them?”

“Yes, yes,” Molly replied, following as Sherlock walked around the first table. She remained silent, but Sherlock could tell she was looking for the right words, and before she could open her mouth, he knew exactly what she was about to say. “You know, after you jumped, I couldn’t face him.” Sherlock’s hands clenched on the table, but Molly continued. “I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t watch as he slowly got worse and worse. I could have fixed it, could have told him to not give up, to just wait.”

“You couldn’t,” Sherlock breathed out, not sure why he was encouraging her to continue.

“Couldn’t I?” She asked and Sherlock turned to face her again frowning. “You weren’t there, Sherlock. You didn’t see what he had become.”

 _I don’t want to know_ , Sherlock almost said. _I had made my choice, and it saved him. I would do it all over again if I had to._

“I think that’s when I realised just how much he was in love with you,” Molly finally breathed out. “I already suspected you were, but John, he- he always seemed so in control.” Silence filled the room again, and Sherlock hoped Molly would just leave and let him be. He couldn’t face her now, couldn’t listen to anything more. “Can I ask you a question?”

_No._

Sherlock remained silent.

“When you jumped, did you know?” Molly asked anyway. “Did you know he was in love with you?”

Sherlock felt his chest tighten, the air no longer making its way to his lungs, and he fled the room before Molly could say anything else.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notebook 167 (experiments related to John) - 10th of May**

Current results after 6 days of experimentation:

  * It all comes much more naturally than I first expected. I caught myself just in time this morning before kissing John when he came downstairs. He doesn’t seem to mind the (now) usual touches in the morning, but I am not sure a kiss would be accepted. 
  * Holding John’s hand still remains as fascinating. I have learned seven different ways of holding his hands, in ten different situations and/or positions. ( _notes: John tends to smile more afterward_ )
  * I now know the exact feeling of John’s thighs pressed against mine on the sofa ( _warm, comforting, strong_ ), the feeling of his breath against my neck when he falls asleep during the movie ( _wet, ticklish_ ), the sound of his voice as he whispers directly into my ear ( _arousing, very arousing_ ).
  * Didn’t dare to bring up kissing again ( _should wait at least two more days_ )



 

**Note:** John’s reactions remain unreadable. 

**

  
It was raining.

Sherlock had planned everything for the day. They were supposed to go out and experiment holding hands in the park again. Then Sherlock had planned a dinner at Angelo’s to pretend they were on a date. Every detail planned to perfection, everything to take advantage of today as much as possible. 

Sherlock heard John coming downstairs and he sighed before looking up at him, “It’s raining.”

John was only wearing his pajama pants and a loose T- shirt, and Sherlock felt the irresistible urge to touch. He watched as John smiled and went to sit in his chair, taking his mug of coffee as he whispered a warm “Thank you.” Before Sherlock could think twice about it, he was standing up and crawling on John’s lap, burying his head against John’s neck to hide his blushing cheeks and murmured a weak “Intimacy” as an excuse. 

It felt like hours before John finally moved again against him, starting to drink his morning coffee as one of his hands came to rest on Sherlock’s lower back. Letting out a relieved sigh, Sherlock closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He had never been so close to John before, and he still couldn’t believe he was getting away with it. They had no excuse after all, and John had every right to ask him to move. Sherlock felt his chest tighten at the thought and instinctively snuggled closer. John’s chest was rising regularly against his and Sherlock focused on the movement of their joined bodies, their breathing melting into one as sleep overtook him.

The first thing he noticed as he blinked awake was John’s lips resting against his temple. They were still in the same position, John’s arms now both secured around his waist, and Sherlock nudged his nose against John’s neck softly, eyes still closed and the fantasy of an almost reality still surrounding them.  _ I could get used to this, _ Sherlock thought with a sad smile. 

He remained still for long seconds, committing to memory every point of contact of their bodies, every breath John took, every soft sound escaping his lips. He shut his eyes tighter and pressed them closer together, tried to melt into John, to become one. He wanted to remember this moment, to store it away and come back to it whenever the need to be close became too strong to resist.  He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, breathing John in with every intake of breath and learning the shape of his body against his, but for a second, Sherlock found himself hoping they could stay this way for the entire day. 

He felt John stir against him but remained still as he spoke, “You fell asleep.”

“Sorry,” John breathed out, making Sherlock shiver. “How long?”

Sherlock tried to focus on anything else but John again, “Twenty minutes or at least since I woke up.”

The smile in John’s voice was obvious as he replied, “You stayed awake and didn’t move for twenty minutes?

Sherlock considered his next words carefully, the ones he had been keeping to himself all this time threatening to spill out, and said in a breath, “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Another shiver ran through him as John’s nose found his hair, “You know, this is what you call a perfect way to begin a rainy day at home.”

Sherlock frowned, unable to repress his smile as he asked, “And what is a rainy day at home?”

“I’m sure you’ll find it boring,” John said, and Sherlock was about to object but John pressed them even closer and all the words died inside his throat. “It involves a lot of nothing,” John continued.

“Try me,” Sherlock said in a murmur.

“Why don’t I show you instead?” John asked and it took all of Sherlock’s will not to kiss him this instant.

“Show me?” He asked, pulling away before he could do something he would regret later. 

John nodded, smiling before straightening up, “Yes,” the hand on Sherlock’s lower back slid up and down for another second before John said, “First of all, breakfast.”

“It’s past eleven already,” Sherlock pointed out, reluctantly climbing off John’s lap. 

“Brunch then?” Sherlock shrugged, realising he was actually hungry and John laughed as he got to his feet, “Come on.”

John started to set food and plates on the table, mumbling about the body parts in the fridge with a smile on his lips, and Sherlock pretended to hear nothing about it as he sat on one of the chairs. He wondered for a moment if John was expecting him to help, to actually make breakfast with him. Was it something couples did? He watched him for long seconds, eyes fixed on John’s lips and nose and soft wrinkles an-

“Sherlock? Are you listening to me?”

Sherlock looked up to John’s eyes, feeling his cheeks heat, “Yes.”

“Then what do you want to eat?” John asked, a playful smile on his lips. 

“I don’t care,” Sherlock replied with a shrug. 

John shook his head, walking around the table and standing in front of him before saying, “I’m not buying that,” he brushed one hand against Sherlock’s shoulder, lingering there for approximately twenty seconds more than necessary, “What do you want to eat?”

Sherlock stared up at him, the urge to kiss him overwhelming him again, “Toast?”

“Strawberry jam?” John asked, his smile growing wider.

Sherlock nodded, throat dry and heart pounding as John’s hand slid away and he was back looking through the cupboards. “So,” he asked, “What did you work on last night? I heard you walking around.”

“Oh just some research,” Sherlock replied, fingers playing with a spoon while the smell of burned toast started to fill the room. “About bees.”

“Again with the bees?” John asked, turning to look at him, “Haven’t you learnt all there is to know about them by now?”

“How could I, John, they’re fascinating!”

John stared at him for a long moment, obviously wanting to say something but he turned back toward the pan again, “So what did you learn then?”

Sherlock started to explain in great detail the unique relationship bees shared with their Queen, and it took him quite a while to realise John was putting more and more toast on his plate, letting him eat them all without a word. There were many more dishes now set on the table, and Sherlock eyed them all with a smile. He had discovered that John was actually a good cook a few months after he had moved in, and if he didn’t often indulged in taking the time to cook, Sherlock had learned to appreciate the times he did. 

“Are you cooking for just the two of us or did you invite people over?” he asked with a smile.

John rolled his eyes, licking his thumbs covered with sauce, “You’ve already eaten half of it!”

“I did not,” Sherlock exclaimed, pushing away the plate of toast and the jam. 

John smiled at him again, a warm smile spreading to his eyes and Sherlock got up before being caught staring. “Help me get all this to the coffee table,” John said, “It’s not a proper rainy day without a movie.”

“Movie?” Sherlock inquired, not sure he wanted to spend a hour and a half watching a movie.

“Yep,” John replied, “Movie, food, cuddle. A perfect recipe for a rainy day.”

Sherlock froze, plates in hands.  _ Cuddles. _ He wanted to go back to the kitchen and take John in his arms, press their bodies together and ask in a murmur what that was supposed to mean. Why was he offering cuddles when there was just the two of them? Did he know he didn’t have to pretend, to push it this far?

“Did you bring the orange juice already?” John called from the kitchen.

Sherlock cleared his throat, “Yes.”

“Ok, coming then.” 

Sherlock watched in silence as John placed the last dishes on the table before saying they could watch some old Bond movie, one they’d already seen so they wouldn’t have to focus too much on it. Sherlock only nodded, too afraid to say anything, his heart still pounding as he waited for John to just come and sit next to him. Finally (finally) the movie was on and John was settling on the sofa,  _ close _ . They didn’t move for long seconds, and when John reached for his plate, Sherlock allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and breathe out slowly. 

“What do you want to start with?” 

“Toast is good.”

John settled back, handing him his plate and this time letting their shoulders rest against one another as he focused back on the movie. Sherlock ate slowly, his stomach already half full, but didn’t miss the way John smiled whenever he reached for more on the table. The movie was as expected, boring, but he watched in silence for as long as he could before sighing, “He’s obviously the villain!”

John turned to face him, “Alright, how can you tell?”

“Just look at the actor, he’s trying too hard,” Sherlock explained, “This was probably his first role as a villain and he’s going by the book!”

“I think he’s a good actor,” John commented, leaning closer.

“Of course you do.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” John asked with a smile.

“It means that you can’t even lie to me about the places you hide my cigarettes,” Sherlock replied, already smiling. “You’d made a horrible actor.”

“I’d be a great act-” He stopped, staring at him, “Wait, you know about the cigarettes?”

Sherlock looked back at the TV, unable to hide his smile, “Maybe.”

John burst out laughing, his body shaking, and Sherlock marvelled at the sound once more. They didn’t focus much on the movie after that, John asking more about the bees and Sherlock obliging gladly. He tried not to think too much about John’s hand close to his, or the way he seemed to lean closer every time Sherlock spoke lighter than usual. By the time the movie was over they had migrated toward each other to the point where John’s legs were tangled with his own, their hands almost touching but not quite, and Sherlock would only have to lean in to kiss John’s temple.

“I’m starting to see the point of rainy days at home,” Sherlock said and John looked up at him, the same soft smile on his lips and before Sherlock could do anything, they were kissing. Too shocked to move at first, Sherlock let John press them closer, his lips playing with Sherlock’s for long seconds before pulling away.

“We should put the dishes away,” John said immediately, leaving no time for Sherlock to say anything. 

They took care of all the remaining food and washed the dishes together, Sherlock refusing to let John go yet. He knew he was standing too close, knew he was asking too much, but by the time Sherlock had proposed to play some violin, most of the afternoon had gone by. He wasn’t sure what he did for John’s eyes to look so sad when he had put away his violin, but now that they were back on the sofa and snuggled together again, Sherlock forced himself not to overthink it.  

He felt the exact moment he was going to fall asleep again, and with a smile, he made sure to commit everything to memory before closing his eyes. 

He woke up last this time, and realised he was lying half on top of John when he felt him move beneath him, “What happened?” 

“We fell asleep,” John replied, smiling, “Again.” Sherlock thought about moving but decided against it, resting his head back against John’s chest as he yawned. “I guess we both needed the rest,” John continued and Sherlock almost,  _ almost _ , told him he only needed him.

“It appears so, yes,” he said instead, eyes fixed on the TV screen. “The movie ended.”

“We slept for two hours, it’s already getting dark outside.”

Sherlock glanced at the window, “Oh, I was supposed to check my experiment an hour ago.”

John shifted under him again, one hand coming to rest on his lower back as if to keep him there as he said, “It’s not too late.”

“No,” Sherlock agreed, closing his eyes again, “But I don’t feel like moving.”

John didn’t reply and silence fell upon them again. For a moment Sherlock wondered if they could fall asleep again, and for the briefest second, considered asking John to move to his bedroom. Ignoring the knot in his chest, he asked, “John, would you say we behave like a normal couple?”

“When have we ever been normal?” John asked and Sherlock could hear the smile in his voice. “If you’re concerned about how believable we are as a couple, I wouldn’t worry. Everyone if buying it.”

_ That’s not what I’m concerned about _ , Sherlock thought but only hummed in reply. They remained like that for long minutes but even Sherlock knew he couldn’t get away with more without raising suspicion. He let himself up with a sigh, John following quickly, and they stood silently in the sitting room.

“It was a good day, yeah?” John asked in a murmur.

Sherlock looked back at him, “It was, yes.”

John nodded, licking his lips before saying, “Are you going to sleep at all tonight?”

Sherlock smiled, “Probably not.”

John shook his head before smiling back at him, “Well, I will for sure.” He licked his lips again and Sherlock forced himself not to look down, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, John.”

Sherlock almost followed him upstairs.

  
Almost. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notebook 167 (experiments related to John) - 16th of May**

Notes and comments on the experiment :

  * Managed to kiss John on six different occasions, efficiently proving that every kiss feel and somehow taste different. Further researches would have been necessary to properly catalogue each.
  * (Can’t seem to find a way to initiate more kissing without raising any suspicion)
  * My jealousy has increased far more than anticipated: any contact between John and another person (most of the time for flirting purpose) only makes me want to get John close and kiss him, hug him, anything to show everyone he’s mine **(which he’s not.)**



**Do not forget** :

This is all an act. John is only pretending. He doesn’t want this and never will. 

He didn’t even want to share my bed.

**

Sherlock still isn’t even sure why he had chosen this song.

It had seemed like the right choice the night before. It had been a dangerous move, asking John to practice dancing when they both knew they didn’t need to. They had done this before, had stood into their sitting room and swayed to Sherlock’s violin. It had been a dangerous move, and yet, John hadn’t blinked before standing up and taking Sherlock’s hand in his.

But the song.

Sherlock closed his eyes, breathing John in. He took in their joined hands, John’s head against is shoulder, his breath against his neck, his body pressed against his own. Everything making this moment  _ real _ .

_ Take my hand. _

_ Take my whole life too. _

**

Sherlock found himself hoping they could go back home the moment he climbed into the cab. John had been silent for most of the day, remaining close but somehow distant too, and Sherlock had spent every waking hour trying to convince himself he hadn’t ruined everything with this stupid experiment. John would have had every right to say no, to save them from ever having to pretend and then forget it ever happened.  _ How am I supposed to forget? _ Sherlock thought again, closing his eyes and resting his head against the window.  _ How are we supposed to go back to normal now? _

A sudden halt made him jump, and he opened his eyes again, glancing at John. He was looking outside too, both hands clasped together on his lap, and for a moment, Sherlock considered threading their fingers together and whispering, “ _ Let’s forget about this party and go home, I want to kiss you until you can only remember the taste of our kisses _ .”

“I should thank you for agreeing to this,” he said instead, forcing John to look at him, “You didn’t have to.”

“Greg needed the money, yeah?” John replied, not quite meeting his eyes.

“He did, yes.”

A beat.

“Then we did a good thing,” John finally said.

“Still,” Sherlock replied, not sure why he was pushing the matter this far. “You could have said no.”

_ Tell me you couldn’t have, tell me you wanted this just as much as I did, as I do. _

“It’ll be over tonight,” John replied, and Sherlock nodded, looking back at the street outside.

They fell silent. Sherlock wanted to ask, just to know, if John had liked it, this game of theirs. Would he do it all over again? Would he consider making it a reality? Did he feel it too, this overwhelming need for more? Sherlock shook his head, a sad smile blooming on his lips. No. He needed to take as much as he could of tonight, make it a night he could always come back to whenever he needed to.

“If there’s gifts,” he said, hoping to make John smile again, “I’m leaving.”

He let John’s laughter fill the air and his head, “Why would they give us gifts?” A moment. “Oh god.”

Sherlock smiled, “Yes, my point exactly.”

“We don’t open them, that’s all,” John said, smiling.

“Or we leave,” Sherlock replied before he could stop himself. He glanced at John, searching his face for a moment, but found nothing but a warm smile and shining eyes. Sherlock swallowed, “We’re here.”

John looked away, “Right, yes.” He smiled at him again, “Do not open anything.”

Unable to repress a laugh, Sherlock followed him out of the cab and into battle.

There were much more people than Sherlock had expected inside the pub, and Lestrade was far too drunk already when he greeted them. John played his part perfectly, and before Sherlock could say anything, they were being congratulated by everyone, officers he had never met, others he had insulted, some he had learned to like working with. Each and every one of them offering their best smiles and funny anecdotes about their own bets. Even Donovan smiled and laughed with them, making it obvious just how believable their entire act had been since the beginning.  _ Almost too easy, _ Sherlock thought as John went to get them some drinks.

Sherlock watched as he leant against the counter, waving to the bartender. John had chosen casual clothes for tonight, jeans and a thin jumper that left nothing to the imagination, and Sherlock couldn’t look away. How many years had he been staring at John’s body and wondering how it would feel under his fingers, under his mouth? Probably from the very beginning, he thought, licking his lips as a familiar warmth spread through his chest. Just as he was starting to get lost into dangerous fantasies, John looked back at him, smiling and mouthing a quiet “Ok?”

Sherlock smiled, nodding, and decided here and then that he would kiss the man as soon as he came back. He had been wanting to since he had woken up, and he wouldn’t wait any longer. Not tonight.

“Sorry it took so long,” John smiled when he arrived, “I’ve forgotten how much officers liked to dr-”

Sherlock crashed their mouths together, swallowing the rest of John’s sentence and feeling his entire body relax into the touch. He was going to miss this, miss it desperately. “Have you been smoking?” John asked when they parted, standing barely centimeters away from each other.

Sherlock watched as John licked his lower lip, gathering enough common sense before pulling away properly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He walked to the nearest table, John laughing behind him, “Like hell you don’t. I thought I’d hidden all of your cigarettes.”

“You do know they sell these, right?” Sherlock asked once they were sitting.

“Maybe if I asked Mycroft, he could find a way to prevent anyone selling you some,” John continued with a smile, leaning closer.

“Don’t you dare,” Sherlock replied and before he could do anything, John was leaning even closer and kissing him.

Sherlock gasped, his eyes closing immediately and he placed both hands on John’s nape, desperate for him to stay right there. He let John play with his lips, licking, nipping at them, before letting him in. God, how he loved this. John’s tongue was almost too familiar now, and Sherlock knew exactly which angle to chose to deepen the kiss even more, making every gasp, every moan his.

“Promise me I won’t have to find you like that on crime scenes.”

Sherlock jumped, pulling away too fast and almost falling out of his chair. Lestrade was smiling down at them, but Sherlock was focused on John and John only. John, who wasn’t looking at him, who wasn’t even smiling.

He looked up at Lestrade, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“It’s your party,” Greg said, too joyous, “You’re the main attraction!”

“And who’s fault is that?” Sherlock asked, starting to get amused by all this after all.

“Ah, Sherlock,” Greg sighed, patting his shoulder, “I can still remember the days where I thought you’d be a pain in my arse for the rest of my career.” He smiled at the both of them. “Thank god for John!”

Sherlock look down,  _ if only you knew _ , “Yes.”

Lestrade made it his duty then to drag them from officer to officer, Sherlock only remaining there because of John’s hand in his, and he took the first opportunity he found to push John toward the dance floor. He understood they had an act to play, but for moment, just for a moment, Sherlock needed John to himself. He let John kiss him, again and again, pouring as much as he could inside their kiss without giving out too much, and for a moment, Sherlock found himself hoping the night would never end.

Still, the moment Mrs. Hudson interrupted them and started dancing with John, Sherlock fled the room as fast as he could. A smoke, first, safely hidden in the bathroom. He needed to think, to make a decision before going home and somehow,  _ somehow _ , talk to John. They couldn’t go back home and not know if they would still be  _ them _ tomorrow. Sherlock couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t.

“Sherlock, I was looking for you everywhere!”

Sherlock looked up, startled. John’s cheeks were red from the heat and the drinks, his eyes smiling despite his recent scare, and so  _ painfully _ beautiful that Sherlock couldn’t stop himself. He pushed himself off the wall, staring into John’s eyes as he approached slowly and only stopped when he could feel John’s breath against his lips.

“Sherlock,” John whispered, eyes fluttering closed and Sherlock crashed their mouths together. He found himself being pushed back against the wall immediately, John’s strong arms pinning him there as his hands cupped his face. Sherlock had no idea what he was doing. It felt like their first kiss, but more desperate this time, and Sherlock wanted, needed  _ more _ . John was all but ravishing him, tongue and teeth, leaving them no time to even breathe.

“John,” Sherlock panted when John pulled away just a little, moaning as John’s mouth was now leaving kisses all over his neck, pressing them closer and closer. “John,” he moaned again, blindly seeking John’s lips with his again. He swallowed John’s own panting breaths, feeling something hot and dangerous build inside him, and Sherlock let a growing hope fill him entirely. He hooked one leg around John’s waist, not caring about what he should or shouldn’t do, and John locked them closer together.

_ This, this is what I want for the rest of my life _ , Sherlock thought, kissing John hungrily,  _ please, understand. _

“Oh, shit, sorry!”

Sherlock barely registered the door opening and closing again quickly, and it was only when he felt John’s sigh against his neck that he realised what had just happened, “John?”

“We should go,” John said, still panting, “We’ve stayed long enough.”

Sherlock smiled,  _ he understood, he wants it, he wants me. _ “Yes, let’s go home.”

John pulled away and Sherlock couldn’t seem to meet his eyes as he went for the nearest sink. He watched as John splashed some water on his face, and wondered if he could go and kiss him again before they had to leave.

“I think we call tonight a success,” John said, sounding all too serious. “Your plan worked perfectly. They all bought it.”

“They-” Sherlock began, frowning, before reality came crashing down his shoulders. “Oh.”

“What is it?” John asked, glancing at him.

Sherlock did his best to hide his disappointment, the knot in his chest making it hard to breathe, “I Just-,” deep breath. “I just remembered I need to go check the fingers in the fridge.” He looked up at John, “I’ll wait for you outside.”

**

In the end, Sherlock should have known.

It didn’t matter if they had spent the last thirteen days pretending, didn’t matter if he was now capable of describing the exact taste of John’s lips against his own, didn’t matter if he had fallen in love all over again.

He should have known.

**

Sherlock had left the flat as soon as John had gone up to his room. He couldn’t stay here and know John was just a few steps away. Not when it was now all over.

The fresh air was always welcome, making him shiver as Sherlock finally sat on one of the benches in the park and let his cigarette consume itself. He couldn’t move anymore, didn’t want to. He had driven them to their end, and still, he was certain he would do it all over again if he had the chance. Just to have John, close and  _ his _ , for the briefest moment.

“Isn’t a bit late for a smoke, brother dear?”

Sherlock didn’t open his eyes, sighing, “Why are you here?”

“I’ve been informed of your little game, Sherlock.”

“You mean you’ve been spying on me again?” Sherlock asked, finally opening his eyes and looking up at Mycroft in front of him.

Mycroft smiled, shaking his head before sitting down next to him, “Can I?” He asked, pointing at Sherlock’s packet of cigarettes. Sherlock shrugged. “Thank you.”

They remained silent as Mycroft lit up his cigarette, blowing smoke into the air slowly. Sherlock wasn’t sure if he wanted him to leave or not, and that was saying a lot.

“Did you really think it would work?” Mycroft asked.

“Why do you care?” Mycroft turned to face him, the same smile on his lips, and Sherlock slid both hands in his pockets, sighing again. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does,” Mycroft replied.

Sherlock remained silent.

“Despite what you might think, Sherlock, your happiness is-”

Sherlock stood up, closing his coat more firmly around him, “I’m leaving.”

“Sherlock, stop being a child and act like an adult for once,” Mycroft replied, not moving as Sherlock began to walk away.

“Talk to John, Sherlock.” He heard him call one last time.


	4. Chapter 4

John left the flat the very next morning.

**

The note was on the kitchen table, and at first, Sherlock choose to ignore it entirely. He heard what John had to say. He didn’t want to stay here, then fine. Sherlock had lived without him for years, surely he could do it again.

_ Idiot _ .

In two grand steps, Sherlock was in the kitchen again and reaching for the note. He opened it with shaking fingers, heart pounding and the knot in his chest expanding more and more by the second.

_ Sherlock, _

_ I’m sorry, I thought I could do this but it is beyond me. I should have told you from the beginning, really, but it doesn’t matter now. _

_ I’ll come back, I know I will, but don’t ask me when yet. I have no idea myself. _

_ Please, don’t do anything stupidly dangerous until then and call me if there’s a new case. I’ll come. _

_            John _

Sherlock read the note one, two, three, four more times before putting it back on the table and walking out of the flat.

**

The door was open when he came back, two hours later, and for the briefest of second, Sherlock thought John had come back. He hurried up the stairs, heart pounding in his ears and entered the flat with John’s name dying on his lips as he caught sight of a rather angry DI Lestrade.

“What the fuck have you done?” Lestrade asked, walking toward him, “What the fuck have you done?!”

“Lestrade,” Sherlock said calmly, “What are you doing in my flat?”

Lestrade laughed, a nervous, fake laugh that made Sherlock shiver, “What am I doing here? That’s all you have to say right now?”

Sherlock walked to the kitchen, taking John’s note and putting it in his pocket, “That seems like a fairly good question since you’re currently inside my home.”

Lestrade’s closed fist hit the wall, making Sherlock jump, “Stop this! Stop all this bullshit, Sherlock!”

“Why are you here, then?” Sherlock asked again, feeling his own anger build. “Shouldn’t you be solving some boring crime?”

“Oh no, you don’t get to do this, I’m not the idiot in this room, Sherlock,” Lestrade continued, shaking his head. “I’m not the one who drove the only good person in his life away!”

So this was about John. “Why do you care? You got your money.”

For a moment, Sherlock was certain he was going to get punched in the face, but Lestrade only closed his eyes, breathing out loudly before saying, “You’re not making this easy, Sherlock, not at all.” He looked back at him. “I don’t bloody care about your fucking money.” He took a step closer. “I care about my friend having to stay in a hotel and being miserable.”

“John chose to leave,” Sherlock replied, as calmly as he could.

“Oh yeah,” Lestrade laughed, “I’m sure he loved leaving his own flat for some shitty hotel room!”

“His choice,” Sherlock said again, weaker this time, and Lestrade shook his head.

“I can’t believe this.” He sighed. “Sit down.”

“Wha-”

“Sit down,” Lestrade repeated, pointing to the nearest chair and waiting for Sherlock to sit before doing the same. “You surely know I had drinks with John a few days ago.” Sherlock nodded.” Ok. You two had already began this stupid thing, so I kept on asking him about how it was, being in a relationship with you and all that.”

Sherlock swallowed, afraid to even move. Lestrade took another deep breath before continuing.

“He told me that night that he asked you out the very first evening you two met, is that right?” Sherlock nodded, finding it hard to speak at the moment. “He also told me he thought about you making it clear it wasn’t something you do all the time after that.” Lestrade stopped, staring at him patiently. “Do you know why?”

Sherlock shook his head, and Lestrade laughed, “Come on, I’m sure you can figure that out.” He smiled, “Alright, then let me tell you this, when I asked him if he was glad you two weren’t together when you jumped, he told me, and I quote” he stopped, taking another deep breath, “For two years I told myself Sherlock died without knowing just how much he was loved.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, “I had deduced he was in love with me back then.”

“What the-” He heard Lestrade standing up, “You what?”

“When I jumped,” Sherlock said, looking back at him, “I knew John was in love with me.” Lestrade stared at him with something like horror in his eyes, and Sherlock forced himself not to look away.

“And you jumped anyway?” He asked in a breath. “Knowing it would destroy him?”

“It saved him,” Sherlock said. “I would do it again without any hesitation if it meant John got to live.”

Lestrade fell silent, studying him for a long moment, and Sherlock remained perfectly still. He meant every word, and Lestrade had to understand.

“If you knew then, why didn’t you say something when you came back?” Lestrade finally asked, coming back to sit in front of him.

“You said it yourself,” Sherlock replied with a sad smile, “I knew it would destroy any chance I ever had to be with John the moment I chose to die.”

Lestrade frowned, “But you came back, and yes there was Mary but that’s over now, for good. You could have said so-”

“He doesn’t love me anymore, Lestrade,” Sherlock but him. “If nothing else, the past thirteen days proved just that.”

“I see we’re going back to the bulshit,” Lestrade sighed.

It was Sherlock’s time to stand up, pacing in the kitchen as the chaos in his head threatened to explode, “We spent thirteen days pretending and he still left in the end,” he almost shouted at Lestrade. “Even sharing a bed with me was too much, just for one night!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The case outside of London, where John got knocked out, he refused to share the bed with me afterward.” Lestrade stared at him in silence. “See, it was just pretending.”

“Are you listening to yourself? Surely, with your genius brain, you’re aware there’s not just one possibility for everything!”

Sherlock shrugged, considering fleeing the flat.

“Did it occur to you that maybe John simply wants to share a bed with you when you’re both naked and shagging?” Sherlock felt himself blush and he turned his back to Lestrade quickly. “For god sake, you two are so obvious and yet I still have to bloody explain everything to you!”

Sherlock tried to control the tremor in his hands as he asked, “He doesn’t-”

“Oh no, not you too,” Lestrade cut him. “John already thinks you don’t love him, and I have less problems imagining why considering how impossible it is to understand what’s happening in that big brain of yours.” He inhaled deeply, “But you should know better.”

“He believes I don’t love him?” Sherlock asked in a breath, Lestrade’s words hanging in the air.

He heard Lestrade get up, coming to stand next to him, “He’s certain of it.”

“But he-”

Sherlock stopped, taking a shuddering breath and felt Lestrade’s hand on his shoulder, warm and reassuring, “Go to him.”

**

John Watson loved him.

Sherlock hadn’t a single doubt now. John loved him and had whispered it against his lips, breathed it into his skin. John loved him without boundaries, without restraints, and Sherlock was never going to leave this bed.

John Watson loved him, and Sherlock had never felt stronger than at this very moment.

**

“I have to say,” John whispered, snuggling closer on the sofa, “naked days were a brilliant idea.”

Sherlock smiled, looking down at their feet brushing against each other at the end of the sofa, and  placed his hands on John’s own resting on his stomach, “You do happen to have those from time to time.”

He felt John’s smile against his skin as he kissed down his nape and shoulder, “Thank you.”

Sherlock closed his eyes again, not caring at all about the movie they were watching, and leant back into John’s embrace. After a few minutes of debate, he had agreed to let John pull a duvet over them both at least for the time to watch a movie, and Sherlock had to say he liked it better like this. He could still feel John’s naked body pressed against his back, compact and warm.

“Are you falling asleep?” John murmured, and Sherlock shook his head. “Liar.” Sherlock felt his smile widen as John’s hands slid lower down his chest. “I can keep you awake, you know.”

Sherlock kept his eyes closed, nodding and teeth biting at his lower lip. He felt John press them closer, his hardening erection poking into his arse, and this time Sherlock couldn’t repress a moan. “Awake, yet?” John asked, his fingers now stroking over his inner thighs, forcing Sherlock to spread his legs just a little wider.

John was already panting against his neck, lips kissing and nipping at his shoulder, and Sherlock tentatively rolled his hips, “Oh god, Sherlock.” They already had sex three times since this morning, and if it still all felt like something brilliantly new, Sherlock was starting to know what could drive John to the edge.

He moaned as John’s fingers finally closed around his own erection, tugging slowly, “John.” He pushed back against him again, letting John thrust against his arse and lower back. “Hmmm.”

“You feel amazing,” John breathed out, lips close to his ear. “I could touch you for hours.”

“Please,” Sherlock found himself begging, starting to push into John’s hand.

Sweat was beading on both of their bodies but neither of them pushed the duvet away, locking themselves into this bubble made only of their bodies coming together again and again. A longer thrust made John’s cock slip between Sherlock’s thighs, and Sherlock instinctively pressed them closer together, trapping John’s erection there, “Oh fuck, yes.”

John continued to thrust, his hand never leaving Sherlock’s erection, and soon their moans and gasps were filling the room. Sherlock felt his orgasm build low in his abdomen, taking all the breath out of him as it hit, not the exploding sensation he had left that first time last night, but something more shattering, making him shake in the after wave.

“Oh god, you’re so-  _ oh, _ Sherlock, I love-”

John came all over the duvet, his pelvis pressed to Sherlock’s thighs. They remained like that, panting and sweaty for long seconds before Sherlock managed to roll over without falling off the sofa and kissed John.

“You,” breathed out when they parted, smiling and Sherlock felt his chest expand with the love he felt for this stunning man.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered.

John let out a small laugh, “I’m afraid I’m going to need a bit more time for that again, love.”

Sherlock shook his head, brushing their lips together, “I just want to have you in my bed,” he said in a murmur, “close and mine.”

John kissed him properly for long seconds, “Yours.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notebook 167 (experiments related to John) - 19th of May**

Notes and comments on the experiment :

  * Tell Sherlock he’s an idiot but I love him anyway.



  
**Important** : I really, really do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There goes the end of this story, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
> I might come back to this Universe from time to time for small fiction, who knows?
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments, kudos and feedbacks. You're the best readers I could hope for :)
> 
> Pauline

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment are really appreciated :)
> 
>  
> 
> [I do fic commission now](http://johnlockfulfillment.tumblr.com/tagged/fic-commission)  
> 


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